


Policy Of Truth

by Mrs King of Hell (Slytherkins), PrincessMisery86



Series: The Secrets We Keep [3]
Category: SPN, Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Brotherly Dean, Confessions, Crowley Being Devious, Crowley being awesome, Demon Deals, F/M, Mild Language, Sad, Sad Sam Winchester, Secrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2019-10-25
Packaged: 2021-01-02 23:21:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21169556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slytherkins/pseuds/Mrs%20King%20of%20Hell, https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrincessMisery86/pseuds/PrincessMisery86
Summary: Back home at the bunker, the boys finally get Erin to tell her secret.Co-wrote / author: @slytherkinsWarnings: angst, Crowley being awesome and devious, language.Song & Artist: Policy Of Truth - Depeche Mode.Word Count: 4.9k (inc. lyrics)Notes: Part 3 in Sam & Erin series.Characters: Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, OFC, Crowley.Pairing: mentioned Sam Winchester x OFC.





	Policy Of Truth

**Author's Note:**

> Hey and welcome! So to make long story short, I have progressive hearing loss in my left ear (I have lost 80% of my hearing so far.) Docs say my right ear will also start to deteriorate, there’s no explanation for it and it’s irreversible. I’m not looking for sympathy, it is what it is. But it does mean I have been listening to a shit ton of music lately, every chance I get, which is sparking inspiration for fics. So I’ve set myself a challenge (thanks for the idea @negans-lucille-tblr and @firefly-in-darkness) to write a fic based on a song for every letter of the alphabet.  
Notes:  
I have a few ideas already but don’t have any set completion date, I will write and post as they come to me.  
Fics will more than likely be for Supernatural or Jensen/Jared but will make sure to label accordingly.  
There’s no specific music genre - I listen to everything, rock, pop, hip hop, r’n’b, rap, dance, metal, house, garage, I will listen to anything if I like it.  
Welcome to send me some ideas.  
It may be a whole song that I take inspiration from or just a certain line or lines. Lyrics will be in each post.  
Posting to Tumblr too - @PrincessMisery666

##  **Policy Of Truth**

_ **Seven Years Ago ** _

_The gravel scraped against the skin of Erin’s hands as she shoved the dried dirt back into place. She sat back, her butt resting on her heels as she knelt on the ground. She felt ridiculous, summoning a demon. She’d officially lost her mind. But she was okay with that, better to lose her mind than someone she loved. _

_She closely surveyed her surroundings, expecting…she wasn’t sure what to expect. A puff of smoke or a gust of wind, and then there to be a horned devil with red skin, aglow with flames, grinning menacingly at her. The starlit night and her car, parked fifty yards away, were the only things she could see. _

_Maybe she did it wrong? Maybe the story the old guy told her in the bar was complete bullshit, like she suspected, though he had been convincing._

_“Screw this,” Erin moaned, getting to her feet. She dusted off the knees of her black jeans as she walked, and when she was satisfied she wasn’t going to leave sandy dust residue in her seat, she lifted her head, and that’s when she saw a short, well-groomed, impeccably dressed man standing with his hands in his pockets beside her car. _

_Erin gave him a wary look. He didn’t look supernatural. He looked…like an art dealer or something. _

_“What? Were you expecting a lightning show?” he asked._

_She swallowed a thick, nervous lump in her throat. “Something like that,” she confessed dusting off her jeans again just to give her hands something to do other than ball into frightened fists, but she kept her focus on the unassuming man. _

_“Sorry to disappoint,” he offered with a smile. It seemed friendly on the surface, but the subtle glint in his eye made her suspect it was anything but. She stopped a few feet short of him. When she didn’t respond other than to stare, open-mouthed, he rolled his eyes. “I’m not a dancing monkey, darling. But if you insist on bells and whistles…” He smirked, and with a blink, his eyes turned blood red. The shock on her face when she stumbled back with a hand to her mouth made his smirk twist wider. “Name’s Crowley. And you are?”_

_“Erin,” she stammered, wondering if she should offer to shake his hand._

_“Lovely name for a lovely girl,” his eyes roamed the length of her body. “So, Erin…what is it I can do for you?” _

* * *

Sliding into the Impala had felt so familiar, so normal, Erin could almost convince herself everything was as it had been. Baby’s engine was the only sound for hours. She sat mutely in the back, staring out the window at the night beyond it, broken by the intermittent flash of passing streetlights. The brothers didn’t speak, no music played. 

She sensed more than she saw Sam and Dean’s furtive glances in the rearview mirror. Each one made her guilt deeper. They sought answers she’d promised to give, and it was a promise she would keep, but at what expense? Sam’s heart–she’d lose that, if she hadn’t already. Dean’s trust and brotherly love, that would go, too. The place she had called her home for the last three years? She’d be kicked out and never walk its halls again 

Halfway home, Dean seemed to decide he wouldn’t manage the rest of the journey without something to eat. She could imagine they hadn’t made any stops on their way to Sioux Falls. The drive was a long one, and they both had to be starving. Dean parked outside an all-night diner and sent Sam inside for burgers and fries. He seemed eager enough to not be the one left alone in the car with her. Erin shook her head when Sam asked if she was hungry. She had no appetite, but she knew he’d bring her something anyway. One look was enough to tell she hadn’t been eating properly. She and Dean watched Sam step into the grease box diner without a word, but once the door closed behind him, Erin caught Dean’s eye in the rearview.

“What? Afraid I’m going to gank you while Sam’s not looking?” Dean smirked, but he couldn’t hold her eye. “You know, that kinda hurt my feelings.”

“I just know you, Dean,” she offered quietly.

“Obviously, you don’t,” he shot back, but he seemed to realize he was kind of proving her point and reined in his temper with a sigh. “Man, this whole mess really takes the cake, don’t it?” He shook his head.

“You should’ve let me disappear.”

“Yeah,” he nodded, “probably. And we might have, too, if we hadn’t been afraid you were lying in a ditch somewhere. When you took off, you took off with nothin’. No phone, no money, no clothes. Hell, no fucking shoes, Erin. And then we don’t hear from you for weeks? Months? We were worried sick. What did you expect us to do, just shrug and move on?”

She sighed but didn’t respond. It had occurred to her. She’d almost dropped a dime half a dozen times, just to say that she was safe, urge them not to look for her. But she knew, if she heard Sam’s voice…

“You should have stayed. You should have let us _help_.”

“You don’t even know what’s wrong.”

“Yeah, well, and whose fault is that?” 

Dean twisted in his seat to look at her. His expression was not so much angry as it was consternated, which almost made her dread what he was about to say even more. He was hurt, too, he was just better at hiding it than Sam. She shrank under his stare and avoided returning it by looking back out her window. 

“Is what you’re not saying really that bad?”

He sounded as though he doubted it was, but when she nodded, he blasted out a sigh and raked a hand down his face. 

“Listen,” he said, voice low even though there was no one around to eavesdrop, “if you really think this is something Sam’s better off never knowing, maybe I can…help you disappear.” 

She shot him an uneasy look and he shook his head. 

“No, not like…_disappear_,” he rushed to explain, full with air quotes, “just, y’know, _slip away_ again.” 

She studied him, trying to gauge his sincerity, and Dean shrugged.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy we found you, but…Hey, I’m not Sam, alright? Y’know, I don’t need to know why you did it. I just need to know how to protect Sammy, and if you really think vanishing without a trace is the way to do that, then…”

Erin took a moment to consider his offer, but before she could make up her mind, Dean continued.

“But I want you to understand something, E. Now, I love you. You’re family. But if what you’re not telling us can hurt Sam–if not knowing is going to come back to bite him in the ass, and you’re long gone when it does–then I promise you,” he looked her dead in the eye to convey the seriousness of what he was saying, “you won’t be able to hide from me, sister. Sure as shit not for forever, at least.”

Despite that it would be decidedly unwise, Erin almost laughed. _And his feelings were hurt that I thought he might kill me. Oblivious bastard._ “See I _told _you, I know you, Dean. Protect Sam, no matter the cost.”

“Oh, I know the cost, sweetheart. I’ve been paying for it for years. Long before you came along and, from what you’re saying–or not saying–long after you’re gone, too.”

Erin opened her mouth to respond, but she saw Sam crossing the parking lot, and she clammed up again. Fighting with Dean used to be a favorite pastime, but the context–and the stakes–were slightly different now. It was too late for her to slip away unnoticed anyway. 

Seeming disappointed in her lack of response, Dean faced forward again when Sam slid into the car, handing Dean a tray of drinks as he did. “I miss something?” he asked, looking from Dean to Erin. 

Dean shook his head, doing his job once again, protecting Sam with a lie. “Neh, I tried telling her some of those bad jokes that always made her roll her eyes at me, but she gave me nothing.”

* * *

Sam’s eyes were glued to Erin as they made their way into the bunker from the garage. She cradled her carry out container to her chest like she was drawing strength from the untouched cheeseburger and cold fries inside it. The sight of the war room, though, seemed to steal her breath for a moment before it returned in a rush. He thought she was as happy to see the bunker as he was to see her standing in it once more. 

He moved to help her down the steps, but she shied from his touch, so he merely hovered close enough to catch her if she stumbled. She looked as though she hadn’t eaten in days, and Sam was concerned, but it wasn’t as if he could force feed her. 

“We, uh…we’re all pretty tired. What do you say we get some rest? Talk about stuff tomorrow?” he offered.

“If that’s what you want.”

Sam wasn’t accustomed to her being so timid. She usually had an opinion on everything and wasn’t shy about voicing it. Decisiveness was kind of her thing. Sam’s brow creased with new concern, but before he could respond, Dean interrupted. 

“He’s waited four months,” he remarked, passing through with his bags, “I’m sure he can wait one more night.” 

Sam scowled at him as he brushed by. The dig was subtle enough to be treated as a joke, just Dean busting her balls like he used to, but his tone had been too critical, and now wasn’t the time.

“Dean.” Sam’s warning wasn’t as subtle. He was trying his best to set Erin at ease, and he feared Dean’s behaviour would make her tuck tail and run. 

“What?” Dean rolled his eyes at the hard set of Sam’s lip. “It’s not like I suggested locking her in the dungeon.” 

Sam watched Erin drop her head, her shoulders lifting as she heaved a deep breath. Did she think she should be locked up like a creature they had hunted? 

Dean disappeared down the corridor, but Erin made no move to follow. She seemed unsure of what to do, as if waiting for direction. “Did you want to get some sleep?” asked Sam, taking a step toward the bedrooms. 

“I could use a shower.” It almost sounded like a suggestion, as though she were asking permission. “I smell like a jail cell.” 

“Yeah, sure,” Sam was quick to agree. “I’ll just grab you a clean towel from the laundry room,” he offered, dashing off to do so. It occurred to him he was, perhaps, being overeager, but he didn’t care. Erin was home.

[Originally posted by soluscheese](https://tmblr.co/ZzILit2LNn1DU)

* * *

Erin stared long at the golden numbers twenty one on the dark wooden door of the room she’d shared with Sam for years. The memories they had made there threatened to bury her. The only bad one she could recall was his proposal and her subsequent disappearance. 

Her things were where they had always been. It didn’t surprise her. Sam would have held onto the hope that she would return. Everything looked the same, smelled the same, only it wasn’t and probably never would be again. 

She steeled her nerves with a sharp inhale and told herself to get in, get what she needed, and get out. It was a simple plan. She kept her eyes on the floor, not daring to allow her gaze to venture higher for fear she’d see something that sparked a memory, and it would weaken the already paper thin hold she had on her emotions.

The third drawer on the large dresser dragged lazily open, catching on the left corner, as it always had. She puffed out a small laugh seeing the organised contents, Sam may have left her things in their place, but he hadn’t fought his urge to tidy up. She rarely folded her clothes before shoving them in, but her sweatpants had been folded and neatly piled on the right, t-shirts on the left. 

She took out the first pair of sweats that had enough elasticity in them to still fit her smaller frame and then rummaged for her favourite t-shirt. If she’d have organised things, she’d have sorted them in order of favouritism. While she dug, her fingertips brushed velvet, but she had no velvet clothes. Perplexed, she withdrew what turned out to be a ring box, and her breath stuck in her throat. 

Her plan forgotten, Erin fell to a seat on the bed, staring at the object in her shaking hand. She hadn’t looked at its contents when Sam presented it to her, too terrified of their meaning and of what was happening. Part of her thought she might be better off never knowing what was inside–most of her, if she were honest. But the small remaining part was the problem, the daring bit that got her into this whole mess in the first place, the one curious and ballsy enough to summon a demon. 

Erin slowly lifted open the soft purple lid, and when she saw what was inside, she almost dropped the thing. Tears sprang instantly to her eyes. 

It was perfect. It was proof of how well Sam knew her. When she was younger, she had once dated a boy who proposed to her with a giant, gaudy gold and diamond monstrosity. She should have known then he wasn’t the one for her, but she tried to let him be. They had broken up three months later. This though…

It was white gold, because Erin had always found yellow gold to be garish. And instead of a diamond, which she had once mentioned in passing to Sam that she found boring and pedestrian, there was a [marquise cut ruby](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.gemvara.com%2Fjewelry%2Ftatiana-ring-8mm-gem%2Fmarquise-ruby-14k-white-gold-ring-with-white-sapphire%2Fff95t&t=ODJmMWQ1ZjAyOTZkMzYwNTVmNDhiZjBlNGQ5M2Y5MWNiNDRmNTgzMixkQVdEQjBkTA%3D%3D&b=t%3AjrGZfKytqnOGDUnbyDCSEw&p=https%3A%2F%2Fprincessmisery666.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F188563655394%2Fpolicy-of-truth&m=1), as sharp and fiery as her temper. Erin didn’t dare to lift the thing from its nest of velvet, but she allowed herself a moment to imagine it on her finger. Then, despite her efforts to prevent the vision, she imagined Sam placing it there. 

Their family wasn’t large. Jody, the girls, Donna; but the latter would all have been bridesmaids. A handful of other hunters might fill a few chairs to one side of the aisle, and Erin’s family could mirror them on the other: her parents, her Aunt Miriam…_Mimi_. Her sister, her Maid of Honor, would look so lovely in her midnight blue bridesmaid dress. And Dean would look so sharp in his matching Best Man get up. Three piece, if Erin had a say, and Erin _would_ have a say. But her Sam…

Her Sam would wait for her at the altar in pristine white while her father escorted her down the aisle for Jody to officiate, and the sight of him would take her breath. He’d be crying, of course, seeing her for the first time in the antique dress they’d found while window shopping during a hunt one day, high collared but lacy and delicate. She’d be crying, too, by the time she reached him, definitely before she handed over the small bouquet of lilies and wildflowers to take his hands and speak the words that would bind them for the rest of their lives. 

How he’d beam after and hold her tight; all that night and through their honeymoon. Erin could imagine his smile each morning after, on their first anniversary, on the day she told him their family would be growing soon. She imagined his large hands resting over her stomach, feeling the stirring of new life inside. 

It was beautiful, this vision. It was everything she’d ever wanted…and everything she could never have. _Would_ never have because without Sam, it held no shine, no promise. No one else would be able to fill his role in it, even if she managed to survive this encounter to leave and meet someone else. 

It had been foolish to allow herself the daydream. Erin mourned it now, grieved for all these things that had never been; a union never consummated, a child never born. She mourned it with a bitterness that made her stomach roil and her chest ache. She looked back down at the box in her hand and the ring inside that should have been perfect, that would have been if she hadn’t been the vile thing that she was. Her vision swam with tears as she reached for it, just to touch it once before she closed it away forever.

Before she could, gentle fingers brushed hers, lifting the box carefully from her hand, and Erin gasped when she looked up into Sam’s anguished face. She hadn’t even heard him come in.

“I’m sorry,” she stammered, pulling her hands away contritely in apology for having dared and swiping at her tears. 

“It’s okay,” whispered Sam, near to tears himself. And she couldn’t understand how he could speak to her so kindly after everything she’d done, even just the parts he knew about. “It was supposed to be yours, after all,” he said with a small, fleeting smile. “I just wish I’d known you didn’t want it.”

Erin shook her head, was moments from correcting him, but she realized how selfish that would be, so she bit her tongue and looked away. Sam regarded her for a moment, watched as she hugged her arms, caught her shy, wistful glance at the box he held, and he shook his head. 

“Help me out here, Erin,” he all but begged. “Because I can see in your eyes that you want this just as much as I do,” he said, plucking the ring from the box and holding it out to her, “so what’s stopping you?”

Her hand twitched with the urge to reach out and take it, so she tightened her grip on her upper arm to quiet it. “It’s complicated.”

“Not to me it isn’t,” he said, bending to catch her eye. “Erin, I love you. And you love me.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement. A confident one. An accurate one. “No matter how complicated things are, what else could possibly matter?”

He gave her no choice but to meet his eye, and Erin stared at him sadly, reaching out to touch his face and soothe the ache she saw in his expression before catching herself at the last minute and pulling her renegade hand back to her chest, pressing it over her heart. 

“I’m tired,” was all she said before turning her back on him to gather up the clothes she’d come to collect. He’d learn soon enough what the matter was, but not tonight. With an enormous force of will but no urgency, she slipped from the room and headed to the shower, refusing to look back to see the tear that feel from Sam’s eye as he watched her go.

* * *

“Well, now. We’re rested. Most of us are fed,” said Dean, lifting a reproving eyebrow at Erin. “So what do you say we get this show on the road?”

They were gathered in the Library, and Dean had to fight the urge to yank Erin out of her chair and into a rib-cracking hug. He’d been fighting a similar urge ever since they stepped out of the station in Sioux Falls, and it kind of pissed him off. 

Why couldn’t he just be happy to see her, dammit? Why did she have to allude to some shitty fucking secret Dean knew he wouldn’t like? Why’d she have to go and hurt Sam? 

And she had the nerve to look all frail and wounded, to not eat, to keep them worrying. He resented her for it, especially because he knew, if he was struggling, Sam had to be in absolute agony. 

Could she not see what she’d done to Sammy? That he was just as thin? Just as haggard? As much as Dean loved her–loved her like a sister–Sam came first. Always. That she seemed miserable too wasn’t enough for him to forgive her for what she’d done, what she was currently doing. The suspicion that everything was about to become infinitely worse left him feeling less than charitable, but he still held out hope that this could be mended, that they could move past it. Dean couldn’t fix things, couldn’t fix Sammy, until they knew what was going on, though, and so that needed to happen. Now. 

Dean set a bottle of water in front of her and stepped back to lean against the nearest bookshelf, giving her an impatient, expectant look. He wanted to hear whatever this was from her own mouth, as he wasn’t sure he trusted Sam to give a faithful account, but Dean would have excused himself, out of respect for Sam, if she hadn’t specified she wanted them both there. 

Sam sat down across from Erin and gave her an encouraging nod, and after a deep breath and an uneasy glance in Dean’s direction, she finally started to talk. 

“Seven years ago, my sister was dying, an inoperable brain tumour. She was only fourteen, she hadn’t even had a life, and she was going to die.” 

* * *

_ **Five Years Ago** _

_Erin crossed the desolate parking lot, fishing her car keys from her bag as she typed a reply to her sister’s message._

_‘Leaving work now, be home by six-thirty, save me dinner fatty.’_

_She loved that she could call her sister the affectionate nickname. She had watched for too long as her sister deteriorated before her eyes, sat by helplessly as she faded from a vibrant young woman to a ghost of a person, too weak and tired to even smile most days. _

_The whoosh of her message shooting off into the abyss made her smile contently as she threw her phone into her oversized bag on her shoulder. Her gaze landed on her car, and Crowley was standing by the driver’s door, flanked by two men she had never seen before. _

_Erin’s heart stopped. She didn’t fear him, necessarily. He had put her at ease when they first met. She feared he was there to rescind his offer. “We made a deal,” she told him firmly as she approached, “you told me it was unbreakable, the contract was sealed-”_

_“Settle down, poppet,” Crowley cooed holding his palms up to show her it was a friendly visit. “A deal’s a deal, and I always keep my word.” _

_ “Then why are you here? I have eight years left.” _

_“Counting the seconds, are you, darling?” Crowley smirked. “Have you set a countdown on your phone? That’s what people do nowadays, isn’t it? Whole lives are lived through tiny screens. Don’t get me wrong, marvelous inventions,“ he amended agreeably, pulling his from his jacket and cracking a small smile at something displayed on his own screen. "I won’t argue that they aren’t handy in a pinch, but they lack a certain…intimacy, don’t you think?” he asked, returning it to his pocket and levelling Erin with a far more intimate look than she was comfortable with. “There’s just something about conducting business face to face that I find invaluable. Or perhaps I’m just being nostalgic.”_

_Erin sized him up, suspicion pulling her brow tight at his eager expression. He was too dignified for giddiness, but the gleam in his eye didn’t bode well. Anything that excited a demon was sure to be nothing good for her. “What business?”_

_“How would you feel about a change to our terms? What if,” Crowley proposed, “you could keep your soul? Not only keep your soul, but also your sister, tumour free as per our original agreement,_ ** _and_ ** _you get to live a long, natural life?” _

_Erin offered him no response. It seemed too good to be true, which meant it probably was. Whatever he wanted in exchange would be no small matter. However, in order to avoid being dragged away by hellhounds in eight years time, there wasn’t a lot she wasn’t prepared to do. Not that she was going to let on how desperate she was to accept his offer. _

_But then, they were bargaining for her soul, there was no way he didn’t already know. _

_“I’ve moved up in the world since we last spoke. You, my dear, are looking at the new King of Hell,” he spread his arms wide._

_Erin scoffed, sarcasm dripping from her voice, “Lucifer taking a vacation?” _

_A twitch at the corner of his mouth signalled she was toeing a dangerous line. His expression didn’t change on the surface, but she sensed a new hardness beneath it. “He’s a bit tied up at the moment. Or should I say, locked away for all eternity in an inescapable prison designed by God Himself. But that’s neither here nor there, really, and certainly **not** what I’ve come to discuss,” he said in a tone that implied she would be wise to refrain from straying from the matter at hand. Erin puffed out a nervous laugh, but Crowley wasted no time in getting down to business. “I have something of a situation on my hands, and I could use an inside man. Or woman, as it were.” _

_“I’m listening.” _

_“You see, there are these two brothers who–while mildly entertaining, I will admit–seem to insist on causing me all manner of headache. What I need from you,” he said, getting to the heart of things, “is for you to get close to them, earn their trust, and then feed me any bits of information you think might be of interest to me. Think you can manage that?” _

_The task seemed easy enough, but Erin knew there would be a catch. “You want me to seduce someone?” _

_"Doesn’t matter which one,” he informed her with a shrug, “though Moose would likely be the more gullible target,” he mused, as if to himself. “Squirrel has far too many trust issues,” he muttered with a small frown._

_Erin mulled over his words, tempted to be amused that the King of Hell was sending her to spy on woodland creatures. “Moose and Squirrel?” she questioned, careful with her tone. _

_“You’ll see what I mean when you meet them.” _

_“What if I fail? I’m not exactly winning any Miss Universe contests. Or seduction contests for that matter.” _

_“Then our original agreement still holds,” he said with a small shrug, “Though I do think you’re selling yourself a bit short, Erin. Lovely, lovely Erin,“ he purred. He was too far away to reach her, but when he raised his hand, she could still feel the phantom sensation of fingertips brushing her cheek. She shivered. "Why, if I didn’t think you were right up the Winchesters’ alley, I wouldn’t be here, after all." _

_“So you’re saying I can keep my soul, grow old. But I have to do it with this Moose or Squirrel?” _

_He frowned apologetically, but there was little remorse in his voice when he elaborated. “Your soul is yours to keep. Your life, not so much. There may very well come a time when I’ve decided your purpose has been served, at which point, you will be free to move on, live your life–or what remains of it. Wouldn’t go holding my breath waiting for it if I were you, though.” _

_Erin’s mind whirred. It wasn’t an ideal arrangement, but it seemed infinitely better than the alternative. She’d rushed into the last agreement, though. She’d been too overwhelmed to be talking to a real life demon, too anxious to save her sister. She wasn’t sure what kind of adjustments she would have made to that deal, but she saw an opportunity here. He came to her, after all. Maybe she could negotiate a few stipulations of her own._

_“My family are protected from all of this,” she ventured. “My sister stays in perfect health, they’re never to be dragged into any of this, not as leverage or a bargaining chip. I get to tell them whatever I want and you have to give me the resources to live whatever lie I choose to tell.” _

_“As long as it’s not that you’re suddenly a rockstar living in West Beverly Hills, I don’t foresee that being a problem.” _

_So far so good. What other bases would she need to cover? _

_“I need a year to get close to them, to get on the inside.” _

_“Six months,” Crowley countered leaving no margin for protest, “I’ll arrange for you to meet them, and for them to reveal the truth to you about what they do, but the rest is on you. Six months, poppet, or all bets are off.” _

* * *

##  _ **Part 4 - Coming Soon. ** _

* * *

**Lyrics for Inspo**

Policy Of Truth - Depeche Mode

You had something to hide

Should have hidden it, shouldn’t you

Now you’re not satisfied

With what you’re being put through

It’s just time to pay the price

For not listening to advice

And deciding in your youth

On the policy of truth

Things could be so different now

It used to be so civilised

You will always wonder how

It could have been if you’d only lied

It’s too late to change events

It’s time to face the consequence

For delivering the proof

In the policy of truth

Never again

Is what you swore

The time before

Never again

Is what you swore

The time before

Now you’re standing there tongue tied

You’d better learn your lesson well

Hide what you have to hide

And tell what you have to tell

You’ll see your problems multiplied

If you continually decide

To faithfully pursue

The policy of truth


End file.
